Supernova
by sweetstache
Summary: A Kio centric piece, set during the latest Goura arc.


**Title:**** Supernova**  
**Fandom:** Loveless  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warning:** Angst. Possible spoilers; set during the Goura arc.  
**Word count:** 650  
**Summary:** A Kio-centric piece. (My awful muse decided to cooperate with Nisei and - oh, Kio!)

_**supernova**__ – an explosion that marks the death of a star as it creates a sudden burst of radiation that may briefly outshine its entire host galaxy before quickly fading_

* * *

He is lying spread-eagled on the gravel pavement, like some beautiful, frozen creature. Shards of glass are embedded in his back in a pattern of silver scales, reflecting off spots of blurred light, little winged things that play carelessly in the silent night. The air is still and stained by a peculiar coppery tang.

Through red-hazed vision he sees the world has crashed down around him, and there seem to be only fragments of it left, glistening and uneven, shifting ever so slightly in ripple-like motion. Smeared magnificently across shadowed ground is all bold, riotous crimson. Suddenly – and he thinks he must be absurd – he imagines himself as a fallen comet in a field of dust and shattered glass, and what a lovely painting that would make, with gloriously dark colors and wild, spontaneous brushstrokes – pain throbs in a dull ache throughout his body – what a pity; if only he can live just a while longer – suddenly – and he thinks he must be mad – he remembers that terrible dream in which he was lost alone in outer space for good, and fear takes him so forcefully he wants to scream –

Cold, swirling mist begins descending upon him. A deep chill cuts into his bones, convolutes around his tight chest – he shivers; and it is becoming too laborious to breathe – as the faint embers within his collapsed form slowly flicker and fade…

Vaguely and out of the blue he wonders, _Are there butterflies in heaven?_

Hot, smoke-laced breath tears through the veil of the night, and the voice is hollow but firm, holding a single command: "Breathe."

The voice compels him, and he struggles to obey, to fight. He draws a painful, shuddering breath. Oxygen surges into his lungs, burning, and he is certain his chest is going to explode. Instantly, in one swift movement, hot golden fire is flaring within him, around him, scorching the air and setting the night ablaze.

Yet he is neither valiant nor strong, and he falters. So the flames wane, wither away. A cough wrecks his body in violent shocks; again he feels the urge to scream when renewed pain shoots up his torn back and threatens to shred him into so many pieces. Drops of blood strike the pavement like bullets as he shrinks into the aching form of a mortal, paralyzed, defenseless.

Darkness beckons. Already he can feel its wispy tendrils of black tugging at his ankles, stealthily invading his sight. In the unexpected eclipse he panics, grasping weakly at light that is falling away –

"Breathe, Kio…"

The voice that has returned brings with it some semblance of clarity; the shadows fall back just a slight degree. But it is a quiet, pleading whisper, and with surprise he realizes the voice is not strong at all; it is hoarse and shaking with fear and anger and confusion and guilt. His chest constricts.

"Breathe for me, please…"

Hasty words delivered on a tightrope-line quivering with despair – and Kio feels the pain sharply, deeply.

_Sou-chan…_

The skin on his numb cheek warms to the familiar touch of those fingers, the gentle, trembling contact that leaves searing imprints like lacerations in its wake. All at once he finds a desperate need to speak.

…_you're hurting…_

He summons the last remnants of his strength in an attempt to draw air once more, frustrates himself when he fails. No sound can push past unmoving lips, and darkness is calling, drowning out the words that finally die in his throat.

The world is slipping away like sand through his fingers; he knows he needs to fight to cling on, but he can no longer breathe, does not know what else he can possibly do, losing, forgetting, and he feels so very tired…

A persuasive power that will blanket him so snugly, so easily, if only he will surrender…

…_I'm sorry._

Darkness sweeps up like a wave and claims him.


End file.
